


i breathe not now, not now

by concertconfetti



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Child Abuse, Fever Dreams, Gen, Graphic Description, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, It's Be Angry About The Trials Hours, Trauma, Trial Of The Grasses (The Witcher), Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:15:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25748017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/concertconfetti/pseuds/concertconfetti
Summary: While they're recovering from the Trial of the Grasses, Geralt and two other boys are taken away for experimental mutatgens. Eskel is left to recover alone, and he's certain, after a time, that his only friend is dead.
Relationships: Eskel & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Comments: 19
Kudos: 86





	i breathe not now, not now

**Author's Note:**

> This work was inspired by art created by @hehearse on tumblr [You can find the artwork at this link.](https://hehearse.tumblr.com/post/625540040372764672/heartache-and-woe-a-commission-for-bluebee221)
> 
> EDIT: Seems something weird happened with my home formatting and left half the fic in italics. I've fixed it now - should be infinitely more readable.

Geralt’s dead, he’s certain of it. The witchers - the mage ones - took him away days ago with the other two kids who survived The Grasses and left Eskel alone on his cot, trembling with fever and soaked in sweat. (He’s certain it’s been days - the light’s changed about three times since he laid down here). Someone comes up every once in a while to help him drink water - _Vesemir,_ he thinks, because Vesemir’s the only one that cared about any of them outside their Destinies - and Eskel catches snippets of the old man's worried murmurs. 

“...don’t know how they can stand it,” Vesemir mutters, rubbing Eskel’s back as he vomits, again, nothing leaving his stomach but water and acid and blood. “They barely made it through the basic decoctions.” _Geralt's dead,_ and that pain combined with the destruction of his body is enough to break him.

Vesemir leaves, eventually; Eskel shakes and screams and sobs into his cot. The witchers have finally taken everything from him - his humanity, his family, his only friend. He’ll have to weather the remaining trials on his own. For the first time since he was brought to Kaer Morhen, Eskel considers the benefits of walking into the Pond unarmed. Perhaps climbing up to one of the instructor’s rooms and flinging himself off of a balcony. He vomits, unable to move enough to avoid soiling the bed, and he has to lay there until Vesemir comes back. 

When he’s lucid, Eskel tries to focus on the things he remembers. The way Geralt tied his hair back when they trained. How he’d embedded a sword into the wall at the Bastion the first time he cast Aard. If he focuses, the hallucinations are easier to handle. Still, eventually, he sees his mother on the bed across from him, wearing a faded-red patchwork dress. He can’t see her face, he’s never been able to see her face, but she’s singing to him.

_The ol’ hen she cackled, she cackled on the fence_  
_The ol’ hen she cackled, she ain’t cackled since_

_“It’s going to be alright, love,”_ she says, _“It’s going to be alright.”_ Eskel desperately wants to believe her. She fades and Eskel hopes for sleep. 

Sleep, however,remains elusive. More often than not, Eskel fades in and out of meditation, moments of unconsciousness interrupted by more of the same aches and pains. It’s exhausting. 

“Geralt,” Eskel rasps, tears welling up again, and he’s weak, weak, weak. “Geralt!” 

There’s a response - “Eskel” - and it’s weak and far away and a hallucination, certainly, but it’s better being alone. Eskel pushes himself up off of the cot slowly, and it hurts but he's sitting up enough to see the other side of the room. 

He sees too much, too clearly, and Eskel closes his eyes to avoid voiding his stomach again. Every little noise pounds against his skull but when he focuses he can make out a slow shuffle of feet. 

"Eskel?" Geralt's voice is raw and cracked and so quiet Eskel can barely hear him. "Eskel, why are you up?" 

"Can't sleep," Eskel says, cause it's true. "Are you real? Please say you're real." Eskel cracks an eye open and sees Geralt stop near his cot and gently pat his torso. 

"I...think?" Geralt doesn't sound entirely sure, but he resumes his shuffle towards the cot until he collapses onto it. Eskel moves as much as he dares, and Geralt is sitting next to him, breathing, and his hand is in Eskel's and he's got a pulse, slow and steady under his fingers. 

"You're alive," Eskel says. 

"I'm alive." Geralt stares straight ahead. His hand shakes in Eskel's. "I… I was afraid I wouldn't see you again." 

Eskel pulls his knees up to his chest - he feels small. "I thought you were dead," he says quietly. Geralt squeezes his hand; Eskel takes a moment to really look him over, now that Geralt is here and he's real. He's thin, paler than even Eskel is and his eyes reflect what little light there is in the room. Geralt's flame-red locks fade about half way up the strands into a stark, star white. Eskel pulls his hand from Geralt's and threads his fingers through the now-white hair; Geralt flinches. 

"'M a monster," he mutters, shrinking away from Eskel's touch. Eskel frowns and snatches Geralt's hand again. 

'Not to me," he says, "never to me." And he pulls Gealt into an embrace and lays them down on the cot. Both boys are still running too hot and aching, but wrapped around each other, they sleep for the first time in days. 

When Vesemir comes to collect them in the morning, both boys stare back at him with amber colored eyes, clear and cogent and angry. Vesemir can't blame them; he can only hope that anger is enough to keep them both alive. 

**Author's Note:**

> Title from The Rockrose and The Thistle by The Amazing Devil


End file.
